Take Me Home
by EmmaLThornwood
Summary: Maybe he was worrying—again; they'd had this conversation a solid five times since this morning—about his meager funds and lack of summer employment. Maybe he truly was just tired. Ronan rested a hand on his thigh beneath the table, because, shut up, he could be a comforting boyfriend, and felt approximately ninety percent of his blood stop circulating.


Ronan could tell Adam was uncomfortable. He just wasn't sure why.

Adam was back in Henrietta for the summer, and, of course, because Blue and Gansey were Blue and Gansey, Adam and Ronan had been awarded exactly zero minutes and zero seconds of alone time in the twelve hours since Adam's arrival.

Currently, the foursome was squished into a booth at Nino's, Gansey and blue on one side and Ronan and Adam on the other.

They'd finished eating, so Gansey was grilling Adam about Harvard in his typical, overly-invested manner, and Adam was engaging, but in an absent sort of way, too many '_huh?_'s and '_oh, yeah_'s thrown in to allow the conversation to appear believably two-sided.

Also, he wouldn't stop tapping his foot. It was his right foot, which meant, with Ronan pressed against his right side, that every jolt of his heel was like a tremor through Ronan's leg.

Ronan wasn't going to address it, because Adam was a grown ass man and didn't need a babysitter, for fuck's sake, but apparently it was obvious enough to everyone, because after a moment of Adam vacantly staring into the empty space between Gansey and Blue's heads, Blue reached across the table to squeeze his hand.

"You okay?" she asked when he startled, doe-wide eyes meeting hers.

"Yeah," Adam answered, too quick and enthusiastic to be genuine. "Sorry. Long day."

Ronan didn't get it. Not yet. He was still mentally rifling through possibilities. Maybe Adam was already considering the end of the summer too heavily, the way Ronan himself had been since the moment Adam had climbed into his car in the parking lot of the Harvard residence hall. Maybe he was worrying—again; they'd had this conversation a solid five times since this morning—about his meager funds and lack of summer employment. Maybe he truly was just tired.

Ronan rested a hand on his thigh beneath the table, because, shut up, he could be a comforting boyfriend, and felt approximately ninety percent of his blood stop circulating.

Adam was hard enough to cut diamonds.

He was so hard he had to be in some degree of pain, especially in pants as tight as the jeans he was wearing, and as soon as he registered Ronan's touch he jerked forcefully enough to hit the table with his knee, causing his Coke to come dangerously close to sloshing over the edge of his glass.

"Adam?" Blue asked, a small, concerned line taking residence between her eyebrows.

"Um," Adam said.

"Oh." This was Gansey, chiming in at last. His voice was so low that for a moment Ronan was afraid he actually understood what was happening and was about to voice it aloud. "Adam, of course. I'm so sorry; I can't believe I didn't consider it sooner. Being so close to the ley lines after so long must be having a myriad of effects on you. You are the magician, after all—there's no doubt they're reaching out to you. Are you hearing things? Seeing things?"

Ronan let out a breath.

"Yeah," Adam agreed, deflated. Ronan saw it for the relief it was, but had he not known, it would've looked like admission. "Sorry. I didn't wanna worry anyone, but I think, uh. I think I need to get some rest. It's just…a lot."

"Oh, Adam, you should've said something," Blue chastised gently. "I wouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry if I amplified anything."

"You didn't," Adam assured her with a tight but sincere smile. "It's been so good seeing you guys. Thank you for today—for dinner, and for everything else. We'll catch up with you soon, yeah?"

Ronan slid out of the booth, shaking off his jacket and handing it to Adam.

Adam glanced up to him briefly, a wordless acknowledgement, and put it on. It was a few inches long on him, and if he zipped it, it covered him well below the waist. Thank god it was still cool enough at night that this wasn't too conspicuous.

"Of course," Gansey confirmed, following Blue's lead and vacating their side of the table. "Helen has a fundraiser on Monday. She's been dying to see you. Tell me you'll come?"

Ronan scoffed.

With great care, Adam stood. "Absolutely," he said. "Wouldn't miss it. Just text me a time."

"Come on, shithead," Ronan endeared, knocking Adam's shoulder with his own. "Let's get you home."

* * *

This wasn't the first time Adam had needed Ronan so badly it was unbearable.

It hadn't happened in a while—maybe not since before he'd left for Harvard, which was just over three years ago now—but Ronan remembered with perfect clarity what it was like.

For Adam, sex drive worked in two ways:

One, it wasn't enough. Nothing was. Ronan could fuck him or blow him or rim him until they were both exhausted, and nothing would come of it.

Two, it was too much. He'd get rock hard in public, no matter who they were around, because his brain decided it didn't care if it was an inopportune time for him to visualize Ronan spread open on his fingers or holding Adam down on his knees or writhing beneath him, drenched in sweat. He couldn't will it away, couldn't distract himself, couldn't ignore it. And every touch from Ronan was like an electric shock. He could get off—and _had_ gotten off, many times—with next to no contact in this state. Every inch of his body became an erogenous zone.

This, of course, was what was occurring now.

"I know," Ronan soothed, as soon as they were alone on the road. Adam looked miserable, clenching and unclenching fists at his sides. "Just hold on. Should've told me, Parrish, we could've come up with an excuse not to go out."

"I didn't." Adam swallowed. Closed his eyes. "It was fine then. Before we left. I don't know. I don't know why."

"Okay. It's okay." Ronan took a sharp left, eyes darting over to assess Adam before flitting back to the road. "Can you make it back? If you need to touch yourself or something, nobody's gonna pass us out here. And even if they did, the windows are blacked out."

Adam moaned. It was not a lustful sound. "It won't work. I can't. I need…"

"Me," Ronan finished. "Okay. I get it. Just, I don't know, at least unzip your pants. I'm having sympathy pains over here."

Adam complied, hands trembling, and made a stark, clipped noise at the accidental sensation of his fingers brushing against himself.

Ronan pressed down on the gas.

They were only about ten minutes from the Barns when they were met with a red light, and Ronan slammed on the brakes a little too hard, reaching over to press back against Adam's chest when the momentum propelled him forward. "Sorry," he murmured.

Adam said nothing.

This, Ronan realized, was due to the placement of his fingers. His thumb, to be exact, was resting just over Adam's left nipple. He knew this because it was straining against Adam's shirt, so tight someone may as well have run an ice cube over it.

This was either exactly the right idea, or exactly the wrong one.

The light turned green.

Ronan pressed down.

Adam arched his back and made a sound so desperate and broken that Ronan could only classify it as a sob.

"Yes or no?" he asked.

"_Please._"

Ronan kept one hand at the bottom of the wheel, steady and sure, and the other on Adam. His thumb grazed over the cotton fabric of Adam's tee, gently and then not, in circles and then back and forth, and Adam.

Adam fell apart.

"God," he groaned, slipping down in his seat, legs spread carelessly, hips rotating in small, aborted circles. He didn't even seem to mind that he wasn't getting any friction. He was too out of it to feel anything but his body's hyper focus of Ronan's touch. "God, _Ronan._"

Ronan said a Hail Mary in his head, because how else was he supposed to handle hearing his name like that, and took Adam's nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it just a little. He felt like he should be giving Adam more, but this was only supposed to be a temporary fix, just until Ronan could get him into bed and take care of him properly. Besides, it was not the most opportune angle for jacking him off.

"Lift up your shirt," he told Adam.

Adam, who was in no state to protest, did as he was asked.

Ronan brought his thumb to his mouth, swirled it around his tongue until it was coated with saliva, and returned it to Adam's bare chest.

In some part of Adam's brain, function was restored. He regained the ability to form sentences all at once, as though someone had adjusted his antenna.

In some other part-the part that made him _him, _the part that made him timid and polite and controlled-function was lost completely.

"_Shit_," he ground out, circling Ronan's wrist with his fingers. He pushed, and Ronan took the hint, applying more force. "Feels like you're fuckin' _sucking_ on it. _So _good. Oh my god."

Ronan was going to lose control of the car. This was not how Adam Parrish, his sweet, southern, reserved boyfriend, spoke. But it was, apparently. Because Adam was still there, still real and pliant beneath his touch.

"Get your fingers wet," Ronan instructed, and, Christ, was that even his own voice? "Touch the other one."

Adam licked over his own thumb and forefinger, twisting his right nipple and humming, low in his throat. His free hand slid down to palm at his erection, but didn't linger there, as though he was just trying to get a moment of relief. He was self-soothing, Ronan realized, in the most pornographic display of psychology Ronan had ever witnessed.

"Hail _fucking _Mary, full of Grace, The Lord is…is…"

"Do you need me to touch you? Ro?"

Yeah. Okay. Maybe Ronan was straining against his own jeans now, but he could've kept himself under control until they'd gotten back to the Barns, which was closing in on five minutes away now.

He could've.

If Adam hadn't asked.

Because Ronan didn't lie, he said, "Yes."

Adam turned to the side, making quick work of Ronan's button, and slid his hand into Ronan's underwear.

The rumble strip beyond the white line marking the edge of the road alerted Ronan that he was edging dangerously close to the ditch.

He pulled the wheel back to the left, entire body shuddering in response to Adam's lithe fingers wrapping around his cock.

Adam _whimpered. _"You feel so good. Skin's like fuckin' silk, I swear. Want you in me. Anywhere. Mouth. Ass. Just _in _me."

Ronan felt feverish. He could not see ahead of them.

"Don't stop," Adam reminded him breathlessly, and, oh. Right. This wasn't about him.

Due to their new proximity, Ronan using his right hand was awkward, so he grabbed the wheel with it and reached across his chest with his left, tugging roughly on Adam's right nipple.

"Mm. _Fuck._" Adam's grip on his cock tightened just enough that it was verging on painful, which was fucking _perfect, _and Ronan couldn't help letting his nails just _barely _dig into Adam's sensitive flesh.

When Adam spoke again, his tone had completely changed. There was something dark in it, something that said if there was a line, he'd crossed it, and Ronan couldn't believe he was about to come like a teenager after being jacked off for all of thirty seconds just from the sound of it.

"Harder than that," Adam said, a command. "Scratch it."

Ronan felt his toes beginning to tingle.

He scraped his nails over Adam's nipple.

Adam's eyes rolled back. He slid his thumb over the head of Ronan's cock, swiping up the pre-come beading there, and brought it to his lips.

Ronan had precisely enough time to guide the car to the side of the road and put it in park before he lost all motor function.

His sight came back to him first, though not all at once. He saw a streetlight, or the aura of one, and then the car's dash clock, and then Adam.

Adam's shirt was all the way off now, wadded up in the floor, and judging by the lack of come—well—_everywhere, _Ronan judged that he'd used it to clean up.

He was so, so gently, rubbing at his own underwear-clad cock, eyes closed in what finally looked like contentment for the most part, bottom lip resting between his teeth.

Ronan wanted to take a picture.

"Still not done, huh?" he asked instead, because, while Adam was soft now—sated, at least for the moment—if he had a hand on himself, it meant he needed more.

"Sorry," Adam said, almost a laugh, mostly a moan. "Just missed you so bad."

"Me, too," Ronan said. He turned his head back toward the road, trying to determine precisely where they were, and stopped in his tracks. "No way."

Adam, apparently, hadn't realized either. When he opened his eyes, a grin spread over his face.

Immediately to their left was the driveway of the Barns.

"Thank god," he said, licking his lips. "Take me home."


End file.
